Take 2. FRIDAY'S GUIDE TO MOVIES AND MUSIC. Movie review

Russ Meyer's Sex Kittens Still Clawing Away After 29 Years

March 24, 1995|By Michael Wilmington, Tribune movie critic.

What a difference three decades make. In 1966, the year of its first release, Russ Meyer's "Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill!" probably was regarded-by the few who even noticed it-as Z-budget trash, semi-pornographic nonsense that couldn't even find or please its own undiscriminating audience.

If any serious cinema enthusiasts had stumbled unaware into the sleazy fleapits and drive-ins showing "Faster Pussycat" in 1966, they almost certainly would have dismissed its bargain-basement production and lurid story-three buxom psychopaths on a kiss-and-kill spree in the desert, battling a lecherous old man in a wheelchair and his tormented or demented sons-as some sort of cinematic nadir.

Now, in 1995, "Faster Pussycat" has become an improbable success. It's a cult movie that inspires rock groups, rock videos and, most significantly, other filmmakers-including John Waters, who calls it "not only the best movie ever made, but the best movie that ever will be made."

That praise is a little high. "Faster Pussycat" is no threat to "Citizen Kane" or "Singin' in the Rain." But, truth to tell, there are not many movies made on similar budgets ($44,000) that pack as much entertainment per minute as this one. Or as much amusing melodrama, perverse humor and continuous surprise.

Or as much cinematic skill. Meyer is no Ed Wood. The movie's ultra-sharp black-and-white photography (by Walter Schenk) and slam-bang editing (by Meyer himself), if not its writing or acting, are top shelf.

The movie itself, though intended as a soft-core adult film, looks sexually tame today (though that's the only part that looks tame). It opens in a go-go bar where the three top-heavy anti-heroines-vampy Varla (Tura Satana), sultry Rosie (Haji) and come-hither-blond Billie (Lori Williams)-are all gyrating wildly, while a narrator warns us of the terrors unleashed by modern babes on the loose.

Soon, the wanton trio-led by fearsomely sadistic Varla-are shown tearing along desert highways in their matching sports cars, screaming with laughter. And, in short order, they've waylaid an affable young couple-grinning California types, dressed in Bermuda shorts and bikini-teased them into a drag race and, for no discernible reason other than sheer meanness, killed the guy and kidnapped the girl.

The rest of the movie plays out wildly on an isolated ranch. There, the randy old owner (Stuart Lancaster, who gives an amazing performance) leers at the trio's captive, hysterical bikini-clad Linda (Susan Bernard). And his two boys-a mentally disturbed muscleman (Dennis Busch) and the muscleman's fairly rational brother (Paul Trinka)-are picked off by Varla and Billie. (Rosie seems uninterested in men; the suggestions that she's actually Varla's lover are handled with typical Meyer discretion.)

What ties all this absurdity together is Meyer's sense of style. Everyone is outrageous. Every single scene is over the top. There isn't an understated line in the movie. Even a simple chicken dinner scene quivers with innuendo. (Of course, one diner is asked whether he prefers a breast or a thigh, but that's only the beginning.)

The three stars-the outlaw go-go dancers-constantly pose, strut and strip down for showers. Yet, because "Faster Pussycat" comes from what we might laughingly call a more innocent time, there's nothing explicit-only suggestion. (In Meyer's hands, of course, suggestions often have the impact of a Mack truck.)

Tying everything together is Meyer's reigning obsession with the female bosom, a fixation he shared with the late Howard Hughes. All the Pussycats are well-endowed. And Tura Satana, clad in black leather with a yawning cleavage, is almost insanely voluptuous. With her black tresses and wicked eye makeup, Satana looks like a comic book temptress come to life. (She acts like one, too.)

Why does this movie play differently now? For one thing, a lot of women-who probably never were calculated as part of the movie's original audience-apparently have taken "Faster Pussycat" to their own bosoms. It's now considered a treasure-chest of quirky feminist iconography. Thanks to Waters' tireless championing, it has also developed gay camp followers. And it's hard to take offense at what would have shocked some audiences in the mid-'60s. Humor overpowers raunchiness.

"Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill!" is an obnoxiously entertaining movie, and the obnoxiousness is part of its kick. Time, stripping away the film's aura of anything-for-a-buck ineptitude, has revealed all the outrageous, in-your-face and off-the-wall virtues that were invisible to many back in 1966. And time has also revealed Tura Satana, the Arnold Schwarzenegger of bad girls. Next to Satana, Madonna is just another Twiggy on the branch.

``FASTER PUSSYCAT, KILL! KILL!''

(star)(star)(star)

Directed and edited by Russ Meyer; written by Jack Moran; photographed by Walter Schenk; music by Igo Kantor; produced by Russ and Eve Meyer. A Strand release; opens Friday at The Fine Arts. Running time: 1:23. No MPAA rating. Adult. Language, sensuality, partial nudity, violence.